Expelliarmus
by thelightningstrike
Summary: Collection of one-shots and drabbles about different Harry Potter characters. Any ship, any pov, any time period, etc, etc. Currently: Knowing- Lisa Turpin & Michael Corner.
1. Dissuasion

**Hello! **Due to my very infrequent updates at the moment, I took a half hour out of my lunch time to write this, the first chappy of my new fic, which I have been planning for ages. It's just like Mischief Managed, but for Harry's era instead. Every week there will be a new one-shot about someone from Harry's era. It starts with a one-shot between Marietta and Cho.  
**To get me started, any suggestions? **_Could be about anyone, in any point of view, cover any event and in any ship!  
_**Read**, _enjoy_ and review! x

"Cho, where are you going?" I ask when I notice her getting dressed. "It's our lie-in day today!"

She blushes. "Well, actually, Harry asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him today- it's Valentines Day, right?"

"So you're ditching your best girlfriend for _Harry Potter_."

"I'm not ditching you, Marietta. I can spend time with other people, you know."

I try a different approach. "But what about Cedric? Didn't he take you into Hogsmeade for Valentines Day last year?"

She bites her lip. "Don't make me feel guilty, Marietta, that's not fair. You know how hard it's been for me to move on- I've only just realised that Cedric would have wanted me to be happy. Hey- isn't that what _you_ said? '_Oh, Cedric would want you to be happy, Cho, trust me, lets go shopping_,', or '_don't moan about Cedric all the time, Cho, he wouldn't want that._' Well, exactly, so that's why I'm going out with Harry today."

I go for the nonchalant 'I don't care' scheme now, making her think I'm going to be in a huff so that she'll stay. "Well- go with four-eyes then. I don't care."

"Don't call him that."

"And he's so much _younger_ than you, Cho! How can you _stand_ that?"

"It's only a year…"

"Whatever."

"Marietta! Don't be like that!"

It's working, I think. Any minute now she'll say, 'Oh fine, I'll stay'. "Go have fun, Cho, I don't mind, I'll just stay here, bored and lonely."

"You've got Mandy! Go and meet her in the common room!"

"Cho- she's the same age as scar-head. I don't want to be seen with a _baby_."

"Marietta- seriously, do NOT call him scar-head, or imply that he is a baby! And don't be rude about Mandy either, she's really nice…"

Maybe a different trick. Bring bushy buck-toothed Granger into it. "I'm _surprised_ he's not bringing that _Granger_ girl with him…"

She looks worried. "Of course he won't. He knows it's supposed to be just us two..."

"Are you _sure_ about that? I think he'll bring her along, you know. Never goes _anywhere_ without her. Are you sure there's not _something_ going on there? You don't want to be the 'other-woman', do you now?"

"I really-"

"And what about the gormless ginger guy? Might bring him along, too."

"Of course-"

"Still, if you want to go and spend an afternoon with speccy, the gorm _and_ the know-it-all, fine by me."

"Marietta…" She's weakening.

"Still, I thought we could have a late breakfast, nip down to Hogsmeade then, have a nice girly shop, hot chocolate in Madam Puddifoots, then back here for lunch. If that doesn't sound nice to you, fine. If you'd rather go to Hogsmeade now, at the crack of dawn, spend hours and hours in Zonko's- you know that's where guys like to go, have a dirty butterbeer in the Hog's head- who knows, maybe they go there all the time, and be kissed by Harry Potter in the company of his stupid friends, fine."

I've struck the killer blow. We'll be shopping in Hogsmeade in an hour.

"Your way really does sound nice…"

I nod, knowing what will come next.

"But I'm actually going out with Harry today. Maybe next time?"

My jaw drops and I stare as she walks from the room.

Stupid bitch.


	2. Grief

_At a memorial service for the fallen, Hermione gives words of comfort. Review?_

**2. Grief**

"Harry?" Harry was in the grounds, hands in pockets, when Hermione approached him.

He turned to her and attempted a smile.

"Are you okay?"

"I- I'm fine."

She breathed in. "The service was wonderful, wasn't it? A brilliant commemoration. They're about to unveil the statue… I think they want you to do it."

"Oh."

There was a pause in which Hermione contemplated how far she could push him.

"It isn't your fault, you know."

Harry nodded, clearly not believing her.

"All the people that died- they died fighting, you know. They anticipated what would happen- it was unavoidable. But they still fought. They still tried to help, Harry- you can't forget that."

Harry nodded again.

Hermione sighed. "You think it's all your fault, don't you? And then of course, that must therefore mean that your grief is greater than anyone else's."

"Yeah, Hermione, I do. There's no need to be sarcastic about it. I never said that my grief was greater than anyone else's- just that I've caused this grief. I feel guilt more than grief, Hermione."

"I wasn't being sarcastic. I truly understand, Harry, I do- but you're wrong, you know."

Harry snorted.

"You think that you killed Fred and the rest then, do you? You think that you picked up your wand and killed them with the killing curse?"

"Of course I don't! But if I hadn't existed- none of this would have happened."

"If you hadn't existed, more would have happened, because Neville would have been in your place."

"Fine. If I had got killed when he tried to, all those years ago, then none of this would have happened."

"There'd have been a great many more deaths if you hadn't killed Voldemort, Harry."

"Are you always so- optimistic?"

"I'm just trying to make you realise that none of this is your fault. You helped stop it. Without you, I might be dead now. Ginny or Ron might be dead."

"Don't say that."

"It could have been us, Harry. It was inevitable- people _die _in wars. It isn't your fault, I promise you. Harry- you're a hero. Without you- we'd be under Voldemort's rule now."

Harry looked at her and saw her eyes were watery.

"Please, Harry. Try and see that you didn't cause this, he did. You're the good part of the equation." She wiped away a tear that had betrayed her with her thumb. "Please. Come back up to the castle. We need you in there."

"I- I can't face all this _grief_."

"Then try and help the rest of us. I'm just not thinking about it- I'm concentrating on helping others now. I've got years to grieve, to feel the pain- it shouldn't necessarily all be now. You're strong enough to do this, Harry. Come on." She took his hand, a gesture that touched him greatly. He looked down at their hands, linked together, a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Come on," she said softly. "Let's help."

Hermione and Harry came into the Great Hall where the memorial service was being held for the fallen. The grieving families were stood facing a sombre looking Kingsley in front of a veiled statue. He was talking, but Harry couldn't hear the words. Harry slipped in between a sobbing Ginny and Ron. He took Ginny's hand, and saw Hermione do the same with Ron.

Harry looked up at Kingsley, who was still talking. He beckoned to Harry.

"Harry," Hermione hissed- "Kingsley wants you up there."

Harry felt numb as he walked forwards. He tried to listen to what Kingsley was saying.

"- and here we have Harry Potter, whom has kindly consented to revealing the memorial statue. Let us thank Harry Potter- the saviour of Wizardkind."

Harry pulled down the veil covering the statue, revealing the lists of names around the base. The statue was of a phoenix rising from the flames. The inscription read, "To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Harry realised, as he read this; that they _could_ get through this, the horrible period of their lives when robbed of their loved ones. They could get through it in the solidarity of their friends, the dreams of a happy future, and the memories of lost ones that would last a lifetime.


	3. For The First Time

A lot of people, like myself, don't seem to understand just why Neville didn't end up with Luna. I'm trying to help us to.

**3. For The First Time**

Neville had next seen Hannah after the notification of her mother's death in the summer; they had met by chance in a wizarding pub in Scotland- Hannah had moved there with her father and Neville and his grandmother were visiting relatives.

It was definitely a characteristic pub for Scotland; cold and grizzly with several buckets dotted around the floor to collect the leaking rain from the ceiling. Neville's grandmother ordered them both drinks and was just having Neville heave her onto a high bar-stool when she noticed the Abbott's in the corner. Beaming- for she had known Hannah's mother very well- she dragged Neville over to them.

His grandmother claimed Mr Abbott's attention ("Long time no see, Graham! Fancy a drink?") and Neville shuffled over to Hannah, who was staring rather dejectedly into a corner of the pub.

"Hi, Hannah," Neville said warily. He hadn't seen her since she had left with McGonagall from the Herbology lesson.

Hannah, who appeared to be on the edge of tears, flicked her eyes at Neville then immediately back to the corner without smiling. "Hello."

Neville lowered himself into the seat next to her, fiddling anxiously with his butterbeer bottle. He noticed her Gillywater, small as it was, remained untouched.

"Are you having a good summer?" Neville regretted the question as soon as it had left his lips.

"My dad and I moved here a few weeks ago; we're still settling in- it's been okay." She tucked a stray golden strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair was in a loose bun- Neville had never seen her wear it like that before, and her face was a lot thinner and paler than it had been.

"Are you, are you coming back to school?"

"Mmm." Hannah sighed. "It's all I have left."

Neville nodded awkwardly. "Are you still taking Herbology to NEWT level?"

"Umm- I don't know- my dad doesn't really, uh, approve, of Herbology."

"You're really good at it, though." She was. She had been in his class and the two of them had often been put together by Professor Sprout because of their skill in the subject.

Hannah shrugged and continued to stare dismally into the corner, her hands hidden in her lap. In fact, as Neville surreptitiously looked her up and down in the corner of his eye, he noticed that the only thing bright about her now was her golden coloured hair- and even that was rather limp. Her clothes were baggy and drab in colour- she was wearing scruffy jeans and a grey sweater that looked like it had belonged to several other people before her. He couldn't see, because of her baggy clothes, but it looked like she was a lot thinner, too.

Neville took a swig of his butterbeer. He didn't understand girls- he'd always thought Hannah very fashionable when he'd seen her in her ordinary clothes, polished and neat, and now… he barely even distinguished her from the stone wall behind her. Not that he knew much about fashion, of course- he himself was wearing jeans and a plain blue jumper- but she just didn't look right. She didn't look like Hannah.

"I'm- I'm really sorry about what happened, Hannah."

"Everyone says that." She didn't sound angry, just stripped of all emotions.

He stretched out a hand to touch her shoulder but thought better of it at the last minute, pulling it back to absently scratch his ear. "If it makes you feel any better, though- I do know how you feel."

Finally, she tore her eyes away from the corner to look at him, and he was surprised to see that her eyes were full of anguish. "Don't pretend you understand, Neville, because you cannot possibly know how I feel right now. My best friend- my own mother- has just been killed. That has never happened to you- at least not the last time I checked." She finished out of breath, staring at him- her eyes were hard. "Just- just don't pretend you understand how I feel, because you don't. No one does."

Neville nodded, not daring to say anything. It was so out of character for Hannah to be angry- she was usually very calm and sweet-natured with everyone. Neville sighed. "My parents were tortured shortly after my birth. They're both insane; both locked up in St Mungo's. You know," he said thoughtfully, "the only present I've ever received from my mother is a bubble gum wrapper."

Hannah looked up at him, her face reddening. "I-"

Neville held up a hand. "All I'm saying is that maybe you should count yourself lucky that you actually knew your mother, and that your father is still able to recognise you." Neville lowered his hand to the table, crossing it over his other hand. He jumped in surprise when another, smaller and deathly cold hand touched his own. He looked up at Hannah, whose hard expression had softened considerably. She looked a little more like herself.

"I never realised…" she said quietly.

"Not many people do; why would you?" Neville said softly, giving Hannah a bittersweet smile, which she returned.

When it was time for Neville and his grandmother to leave, Hannah hugged Neville, whispering "thank you" in his ear. They had reached an understanding that they would each help each other through their suffering; that they could pull through this together. Neville, who had never really been hugged by a girl, was quite embarrassed, but she squeezed his hand gently and all embarrassment was forgotten.

Of course, Mrs Longbottom managed to drag it up again. "Well, Graham, it looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other because of these young lovers! Aren't they adorable?" She had cupped Hannah's chin with one hand and shook it before trying to do the same to Neville, who had ducked. "They're wonderful children. We're both very lucky."

Mr Abbott had chuckled and mumbled his agreement, ruffling Neville's hair- or at least trying to- it didn't appear to be a very natural reflex to him.

Hannah had smiled and winked at Neville, looking happier than she had looked for a long time. Neville blushed of course, and tripped over the doormat as he and his grandmother had left the pub.

Hannah looked after him wistfully. She had always thought she would end up with Ernie; it was expected, really, but something about Neville did make her feel- better- she supposed. After all, he had managed to make her smile for the first time after her mother had died, and that was quite an achievement.

**End**

What do you think?


	4. Survivor's Guilt

_I really wanted to post something, to prove I was still active, so I dug through my files and found this, something I wrote ages ago. I reworked it so that it fit the Expelliarmus style, and, despite the atrocious swearing, I quite like it. I'd love to know what you think._

**SURVIVOR'S GUILT**

When he- when it happened, I shut myself off. I turned to firewhiskey, but put on a pretence in front of my family and all that shit. I tried hard to cover up my feelings, but so many people wanted to talk. And I didn't. I couldn't comprehend what had happened, and I certainly didn't want anyone else to help me to. He was a part of me. And then he'd gone. And I couldn't take it. I just couldn't.

I couldn't comprehend the simple fact.

I never will be able to. That doesn't stop me wanting to, trying to.

They say a mother's grief is felt deepest- but they're wrong. I watched everyone's fucking grief as they found out the fucking news. I had to find the strength to carry on when half of me was dead. They had no fucking idea how I felt. When I saw… when I … see him, lying there, in my nightmares- when I saw my other half die, just like that.

Yes, mum was upset. She took it badly. From the outside, it appeared she'd taken it worst. Whatever.

Dad was upset too, but he could cope. Same with Bill, with Charlie, with fucking all of them. I wonder how it feels to fucking cope.

It must be nice, for all of my brothers, my sister, even, to have a family, get on with their lives. It looks nice, for me to be married, doesn't it?

But it's sick. It's bloody sick. Because I'm living the life that he could have had. That he was _supposed_ to have. And yet it was ripped away from him in a second. How is that fair? How is it fair for me to carry on, for anyone to carry on as if nothing happened?

There's an expression- survivor's guilt- that is tossed around meaninglessly. Some people say they have survivor's guilt when they get a fucking promotion and a nice new house, and their friend still lives in a pokey little flat with no job at all. That's not real survivor's guilt.

Real survivor's guilt is when you have half of you, your best friend, your brother, your partner in crime, the only person who can make you fucking laugh, the one fucking person that makes you whole- whatever- is taken away from you. When you're both fighting, side by side for what's fucking right, and one of you falls. And it's uncontrollable. It's unstoppable. It's unforgivable. But it fucking happens, and that's fucking that. They're gone, you're still there. You're stuck in a moment, wanting them to jump back up- while you're in danger every minute you're fucking stood there doing nothing.

And that's the moment you snap out of it. When you realise that by doing fucking nothing, you could go too. And part of you wants to. And you feel like screaming, but you can't. Because your voice is literally ripped from you. And you feel like crying- but you can't see to cry. You can't hear a thing, you don't know where or who you fucking are.

So you soldier on- pardon my expression- and you carry on fighting, and you're aiming to kill. Your anger builds up inside you and all you want to do is kill the fucking person who took them away from you.

And you think of the rest of your family, and you think they might come to the same fucking end, so you find them and hold onto them. And then of course there's the random fucking strangers everywhere, intruding on your own personal fucking grief, because in grief you are alone, and there it is. The survivor's fucking guilt. It hits you like a ton of bricks and pins you down, and you're choking in it, but you can't escape. It's fucking ridiculous that you're the one left. You wish that it had been the other way around. But it isn't, so suck it up.

And when, on your own fucking wedding day, your best man isn't there, you have to suck that up too. You have to remember that it's your fucking day, and you feel fucking selfish for thinking that. That's survivor's guilt for you.

I'm not usually like this. It has been a few years, since, the incident, and I can usually "cope", know why I'm like this today. It's a low day, a day when I can barely move or talk to anyone. They're getting less frequent now. But it still doesn't fucking help.

I know I'll have to go talk to her now, Angelina. Feels fucking ridiculous, having a wife. Fucking unfair, on days like today. But she likes to help. She says she understands; she puts up with me and my moods, at least. She says she loves me.

"George?" For fuck's sake, she's coming in. "Look, I know it's hard for you today, and I know you can't help this er- slump- you go into, but, I need to tell you something."

I don't even glance up at her. On days like today, she aggravates me beyond belief. Because she was his, before he died. And I took her, when she wasn't mine to take.

"Okay, well, er…"

All this fucking stuttering.

"George- I'm pregnant."

Fuck.

"I wasn't sure, because I've always had a rounded belly, and I don't like to look at it, but I've been sick a few times this morning so I just thought I'd check… so I did the spell, and I am, and I didn't know what to tell you. I didn't know if you'd want to have it or not."

Why did she have to tell me today? On any other day, maybe, I might accept it, I might even be _pleased_- but today...

"I- I'm already two months gone."

She's fucking joking.

"And, George? Whether you want it or not- I do." Of course she would. She always would. It's something she's always dreamed of- something we'd talked about on my better days. Something that some part of me had looked forward to.

I breathe in deeply and close my eyes. How fucking unfair that I get the baby, something that he always wanted. He'd have been a fantastic father- I on the other hand...

"George. Please." Her voice is cracking under the strain, she's trying not to cry.

And then I hear it. It's just a quiet voice- as if someone's talking at a normal volume in the next room. I know who it is- I know his voice anywhere. He's telling me to try. For him. The voice fades.

"George?"

I look up at her. She's beautiful, my Angelina. My Angel. "Angelina."

Something in my tone of voice tells her I'm okay, and she visibly relaxes.

I stand up, and she rushes to be in my arms. We hold on to each other for minutes, hours, whatever- just clinging on tight, and then she pulls away and puts my hands on her already swollen belly.

It's like I can almost feel the tiny heartbeat, and in that second, a long lost part of me comes rushing back.

I look at Angelina again, tears in my eyes.

She nods, tears streaming down her own face as she cups my own in her calloused hands. "He's due in May."

**END**

I'd really appreciate it if you took the time to review (:


	5. A Happy Mother's Day

**A/N: **For the Mother's Day Challenge over at HPFC. I worked it into Expelliarmus because it's too boring to be a stand alone oneshot, but I think it's a nice moment between Tonks and her mother.

**5. A Happy Mother's Day**

"Happy Mother's Day, Mum."

Andromeda looked up and smiled. Her daughter, Dora, was stood in the doorway with an embarrassed smile on her face, a bouquet of wilting flowers in one hand and in the other, an envelope.

"Darling," she said, setting her pen down and pushing away from her desk in order to get out of her chair. "What a lovely surprise!" She walked to Dora and let her give her the flowers and card, the smile on her face growing as she noticed Dora had accidentally left the price tag on the flowers.

She set the flowers and card down and gave Dora a hug, holding her tightly while Dora protested. "Mum…"

"You're home early, love," she said, ignoring her daughters protest. "I didn't expect you until later, if even today."

"Moody said I should be here."

"He's a kindly man, that Moody," Andromeda said before turning to the flowers. "These are lovely. Shall we go into the kitchen, find a vase?"

Dora nodded. "Okay."

In the kitchen, Andromeda found a tall, thin glass vase and arranged the daffodils inside it with her wand, adding a quick perk up charm to make them look a little less, dead. "They're beautiful, dear."

"You're welcome," Dora said, watching her Mum take up the envelope and then rustle around in a drawer for the letter knife. She took the card out of the envelope slowly, and righted the card, her face lighting up with happiness.

"Oh, Nymphadora," she sighed quietly, opening the card to look inside and smiling even wider knowing that she had actually bothered to write in it, even if it was just "To Mum, Love Dora".

She looked up at her daughter, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you, darling."

Dora shrugged and gave a half-hearted grin. "It's no problem."

Andromeda sighed. "Something troubling you?" She refrained from adding _still _to the end- she knew Dora was still upset about Sirius and would be for a long time, despite Dora insisting that she wasn't upset about him.

"No." Dora said shortly, twiddling her wand between her fingers. She dropped it and sighed, bending to pick it up and then emerging with a red face. Andromeda was surprised she didn't immediately alter her skin colour the usual tone like she normally did.

"Are your powers on the blink again?" she asked. She noticed Dora's hair was a dull mousey colour and her complexion was sallow. She moved forwards. "What is it, Dora? What's the matter?"

"Nothing, mum." She looked so sad that Andromeda refrained from digging any deeper, although normally she would have.

"Dora, you may not realise it, but I love you more than anyone. I sacrificed a lot for you and your father- but it doesn't matter, because you and your father are the only people that matter to me. I don't like to see you so upset- please, if you can, tell me what's wrong." She paused to allow Dora to speak; carried on when she didn't. "I want you to know that I'm here. Always here."

Dora smiled sadly. "I know, Mum."

Andromeda offered her arms out and Dora hesitated before letting herself be guided into them, resting her head on her mother's shoulder. Andromeda didn't hear Dora cry, but she did feel her shoulder getting wet. She stroked her hair, hating that there was nothing she could do for her little girl, her only child.

Later, they were sat at the table, Dora having lightened up a bit; her hair even looking a little pinker. They'd just finished eating and the sky was almost dark.

"Your father should be home soon," Andromeda observed. "He'll be pleased to see you- it feels like we haven't seen you for a long time."

"Just three days, Mum," Dora said, smiling. "But I'll be pleased to see him too."

Andromeda pursed her lips and took Dora's hand from across the table. "But while he's not here, I'll just say this- and this is the last I'll say it, I promise."

Dora's expression changed and her hand twitched. "What?"

"You need to move on, Dora. I miss him too- I miss him every day, I won't deny it, and like you, I wish he was here, right now. But he's not, and he can't be. You have to remember, it didn't just affect you. I loved him too."

For a moment, Dora looked very confused, and then a look of recognition hit her face, and she began to laugh. She laughed so loudly and randomly that Andromeda couldn't help but laugh too, despite disapproving at her laughing at Sirius. It was, however, the first time she'd seen Dora laugh in a long while, so she had to join in.

They laughed for ages; for so long that Ted walked in during their laughter and after three attempts to get them to tell him what they were laughing at, began to laugh too. Eventually he shook his head and wiped the tears from his eyes before leaving the room to go and get changed. They could hear his laughter as he went down the corridor.

Andromeda's laughing eventually ceased and she watched Dora gather herself. "What were you laughing at?"

Tonks grinned. "You, Mum." She sniggered again. "I was laughing at you."

Andromeda raised her eyebrows but smiled. "I'm glad you find me so amusing," she said, taking Dora's hand again. "Seriously though, love, I'm so glad to see you happy."

Dora smiled, and Andromeda was happy to notice it was with her eyes, too. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, Mum," Dora said, leaning across the table to give her Mum a hug and accidentally knocking over the candelabra. "Oops."

"Oh, Dora." Andromeda suppressed tears. "I'm so pleased you're clumsy again."

* * *

**A/N: **Gah. Soo fluffy.  
IN CASE YOU DON'T GET IT:  
Tonks thinks her Mum is talking about Remus when she says how Dora should get over him because she (Andromeda) loved him too. She then realises her mother is talking about Sirius, which is why she laughed.


	6. Two Living Boys

**A/N: **Written for the Different Perspective challenge over at the HPFC. I chose Narcissa's POV on lying about Harry being dead. Oh, and something I forgot to mention last time I posted- just in case you were wondering who on earth thelightningstrike is- it's me, CullenCrazy32; I finally got around to changing my pen name.

* * *

**Two Living Boys**

_To be a mother; to sacrifice everything._

It is all over in a flash of bright green light. The life of a boy, a _child_, the same age as her son Draco, vanquished in an instant. Both of them fall, her master backwards to the floor, and the boy face first, a little more gracefully. The change in the air is palpable; Narcissa can almost taste it. She holds back vomit as she remembers reluctantly Draco's first letter about meeting and instantly loathing the young boy laid dead in front of her.

Neither body is stirring, but they all know their master cannot be dead. (_Does she even care?_) The whispers begin, naturally, and Narcissa hears her sister's most clearly- her high voice wailing above the rest as she clamours with utmost reverence to their lord. She thinks back to when she used to admire her sister's bravery, only now she knows it is stupidity, just stupidity.

His first words are cutting, abrupt. "That will do." Thankfully, Bellatrix has shut up now. Everyone else is backing away slowly, not knowing how to react. Lucius' hands are clenched- she can see the veins that she has so often traced with carefree fingertips, back in the days they believed Him to be gone for good.

They are all crowded together now, exempting Bellatrix, of course. She thinks she is showing outstanding loyalty, but Narcissa knows different. Her sister will die tonight, but at whose hands, she is not certain. She thinks of Andromeda with a pang of regret, guilt. (_Is she in the castle too?_)

He has risen now. Bellatrix is at it again, offering help where it is perhaps needed, but never wanted. "The boy…is he dead?" Instant silences cuts through the forest as all eyes turn to the boy's lifeless body. Surely there is no way he could survive the Killing Curse again? Whether she wants him to have she does not know. All she knows is that she must find her son, by whatever means necessary.

"You." She stops breathing. All eyes flock to her, except Lucius'. There is a bang and she hears herself cry out before she even feels the pain, although her eyes remain open to see Lucius flinch. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead." (_Does she want him to be?_)

Silently she walks to the boy, the boy who was born in the same year as her only son. She kneels down and softly touches his face; his skin is warm and smooth like Draco's. She pulls back an eyelid; his eyes are alert and alive like Draco's. Her hands delve into his shirt, one against his chest by his heart, which is pounding just like Draco's. She remembers hearing her son's heartbeat for the first time. (_Does it pound as steady_ _still?_)

Her hair swings over his face. "Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" A low whisper, just loud enough for the boy to hear. And an answer that sets her own heart racing. "Yes." Relief runs through every nerve to her fingertips and she pinches the boy's flesh as she stands, ready to do the right thing after all this time. Her sole reason for existence has changed, although she knows it has been this way all along- she never had the courage to accept it before.

"He is dead!" The joy in her voice is convincing enough, despite the joy being for the still-beating heart of her son. The explosion of noise shatters the perfect silence that surrounds the clearing and Narcissa sways beside the living, breathing boy. She must keep controlled; she must rejoice. (_How long have her emotions been so forced?_)

As soon as their procession reaches the edge of the forest, she sees the castle and her quiet longing intensifies. It is hard for her not to cry out and in the dark she tangles her fingers with Lucius'. She whispers into his hair. "Draco is alive, in the castle." Lucius' fingers tighten around hers and he looks at her fleetingly then straight back ahead, releasing her fingers from his grasp.

Narcissa misses everything that happens between then and getting into the castle: she doesn't see as she watches that other boy in Draco's year chop off Nagini's head, doesn't feel as she forces her way into the castle. She does not care, now, about who is winning, or even about protecting herself- she cares only for finding her son, her only reason for living. (_Why is she so foolish as to realise this now?_)

Lucius is with her, following her through the crowds, searching and searching for that one face. She doesn't even worry that if Voldemort wins, he will kill her later for deceiving him. She doesn't even worry that some member of the Order may be pursuing her or Lucius right now, ready to wipe them away while their backs are turned. She worries for nothing but the safety of her son.

A strangled "Mother!" and a boy collapsing into her arms are all she needs, and all she gets. She holds onto her boy, this boy who lives, and allows the gratitude to swamp her that Harry Potter has lived again, letting Draco live with him. The selfish part of her doesn't even add that she has helped Harry Potter to survive, that without her several more would be dead, because in her arms is the very person that gave her the power to do it.

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Once again, I must remind you to visit The Harry Potter Fanfiction Oscars Forum, and to please review (:


	7. Forget To Think Of Her

**Forget To Think Of Her**

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**Summary: **Draco dissuades Blaise from going after Ginny. For the Romeo & Juliet Challenge at HPFFC.

**Word Count: **714

**Author's Notes: **I was given the italic quote in brackets below and had to write a one-shot either inspired by or using the quote. It inspired me to write this story and the quotes from HBP matched it perfectly too, so it wasn't too difficult to write. Once again, please visit The Harry Potter Fanfiction Oscars Forum (link on my profile) and please _review_. Thank you, and enjoy.

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"...that Weasley girl! What's so special about _her_?"

"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, "even you think she's good looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

"I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like that whatever she looked like," said Zabini coldly.

_("Be ruled by me, forget to think of her."_

_"O, teach me how I should forget to think.")_

* * *

The crush had developed at the end of fifth year, when he had seen her kiss that arty farty Gryffindor, the one whose best friend was gay, as she got off the train, and had developed (despite him not wanting it to) over the summer holidays. It was hard enough having to see her on the platform with her enormous, blood traitor family but then to be invited to Slughorn's compartment to find her there, smelling horribly delicious and looking fresh-faced from a happy summer break was literally torture.

He hoped fervently as they got off the train and strolled (a real Slytherin never rushed to something that was waiting for him) with Pansy and the others to the carriages, that everyone would forget the whole conversation on the train where Pansy had revealed his feelings. He had no idea how she knew about his admiration (if you could call it that) of Ginny Weasley, but hopefully it was just a hunch and nothing more. If not, maybe he had managed to brush if off so well in the train that she or the others would never think of it again.

Blaise thought he was safe until Draco (who had recently caught up with them and slung his arm around Pansy's shoulders), pulled him into a carriage to "talk alone about a certain witch". He said this loudly for Pansy's benefit- her birthday was coming up in the next month and she clapped her hands with delight.

Then, they were alone. Draco stared out of the window for a moment, twitching his hand between his fingers, and then spoke calmly. "So you're infatuated with Ginny Weasley?"

Blaise clenched his hands, the skin tightening across his knuckles. "She's a filthy blood traitor," he said quietly, not quite meeting Draco's eyes.

"So you said before," Draco said, watching him. "Is that always your excuse?"

Blaise said nothing but watched his hands, slowly releasing the clench and splaying them across his knees, his fingers curling around the soft fabric of his robes.

"Take it from me," Draco said softly, a sinister edge to his voice. "A blood traitor is never to be messed with, no matter how- ah, _appealing_, she is. You're a pureblood Slytherin from a respectable family. You have good standing in the world, do you really want to mess that up over a well-formed bit of trash?"

Blaise's knuckles tightened again. Trash? He so wanted to reply in the affirmative, but it was so hard...

"If you go for her, you will lose everything. Everything. If you go for her now, I assure you no Slytherin will ever speak to you again, and that position at the ministry you are vying for will no longer be available. Trust me- forget her."

On hearing (and hating) this, Blaise finally made eye contact with Draco. "I don't know how," he said steadily, releasing his fists and flattening his palms on the padded seat either side of him.

Draco smiled briefly. "That's easy. I'll find you a slytherin- Daphne Greengrass may be available, and if not I'm sure Harmony Rookwood in seventh year will consent- and all you have to do is charm them as if they were Weasley herself. And I promise you, Rookwood would be fantastic for your ministry job. I could talk to her if you'd like," he said, although Blaise knew he wasn't giving him a choice.

Blaise shut his eyes and Ginny's image flashed across his eyelids. He opened them abruptly and nodded to Draco. "Of course."

* * *


	8. The Toaster

**The Toaster**

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**Characters: **Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Ron Weasley & Harry Potter

**Word Count: **736

**Summary: **Mr Weasley brings another Muggle object home, to Molly's horror and Harry's amusement.

**Author's Notes: **Written for The Food Challenge at the HPFFC, where you are given the numbers 1-30 to choose from, each representing a food. I chose number 3, which was toast, and this was born. It was originally going to be a Ron/Hermione piece where she burns the toast, etcetera etcetera, but then I remembered Arthur's love for Muggle objects. I hope I've got it right that Wizards don't use toasters?

* * *

Harry and Ron are playing chess when Mr Weasley gets home, looking slightly flustered as he is carrying a large green toaster. "Hello, boys," he says, and sets it down on the kitchen table. "So, what do you think?"

It's not the best looking toaster Harry's ever seen, having a great dint in one side and being electric green. One of the shiny metal buttons are missing from the side and it smells faintly of burnt flesh. Ron looks at Harry, perplexed, so Harry speaks up. "That's a great toaster, Mr Weasley."

Mr Weasley beams. "Isn't it just?" He sits down at the table in front of it so he can get a better look, and becomes even more excited when he discovers that it has a plug. He takes out his wand and taps at it several times. It does nothing, but he doesn't lose his boyish grin.

"Dad, I thought Mum said she would kill you if you brought any more Muggle stuff home?" Ron says as he stands and goes to sit opposite his father to get a better look. Harry follows him, trying to keep a straight face.

"Did she really? Well, I'm sure she was joking..." he says amiably, although a trace of worry crosses his lined face. He brightens up though when he discovers the pop up lever and presses it down only for it to spring back up again. Ron sighs heavily, but his father's exuberance has brought a smile to his face. "So, Harry. What does it actually _do_?"

Harry grins. "Well- it just sort of... toasts stuff, really. You know toast, right? That's how Muggles make it." He'd never thought actually about Wizards making it differently- but they must do because they don't use electricity.

"Do they _really_? That's simply _fascinating._" Mr Weasley bends over it, pushing up his glasses as he examines the inside.

"Arthur?" Mrs Weasley's voice comes suddenly down the stairs. "Is that you?"

Mr Weasley grimaces. "Um, yes dear!" he calls. He looks at the toaster guiltily, then smiles as if having a sudden idea. "I've brought you something!"

"I'm coming," Mrs Weasley calls. She appears a moment later, with a basket of washing that she promptly drops. "What is _that_?" she says, a stern element noticeable in her voice.

"A- a toaster, Molly dear. It toasts things."

"Oh _really_," she says, her voice getting steadily louder. "And why, may I ask, is it in our house and on our kitchen table?!"

"M-molly dear, I just brought it for us to try- I wasn't going to experiment on it, I promise- p-purely for domestic purposes only, dear..." Mr Weasley starts encircling his arms round the toaster, bringing it closer to him protectively. "In fact," he suggests, watching Mrs Weasley warily, "why don't we all try a piece of toast now, cooked in the Muggle way?" He looks at Harry enthusiastically.

Harry nods. "I'd love some toast." He nudges Ron in the ribs and Ron joins in. "Yeah, toast'd be... great," although his eyes flick to his mother and he doesn't sound as if he means it. Something about the burnt flesh smell must be putting him off.

Mrs Weasley turns to glare at them menacingly while Mr Weasley speaks. "See, M-molly? We'd all love some."

"I see," Mrs Weasley says, picking up the washing basket. "And you'll be able to set it all up will you, Arthur? You'll be able to find a plug sock or whatever it is they're called to jab it into for power?" She watches as Mr Weasley's face falls, a knowing look on her face. "I'll leave you to it, then." With a nod she exits via the back door, off to hang the washing on the line.

Mr Weasley turns to Ron and Harry. "We'll probably be making toast your mother's way then. Anyone know where the bread is?"

Ron sighs, getting up from the chair as if used to this sort of thing and being very, very tired of it, and walks to the bread bin wearily. Mr Weasley catches Harry's eye and shrugs. "He's his mother's son."

* * *


	9. The Snorkack Skip

**The Snorkack Skip**

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Characters/Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Luna, Harry/Ginny, Neville/Hannah

Word Count: 888

Summary: Ron asks Luna to dance.

Author's Notes: This was written for the 1 2 3 challenge at the HPFC where you had to choose three numbers and then were given two characters and a verb based on your choice. I chose 23, 17 & 15 and got Luna Lovegood whispers to Ron Weasley. And so this silly little piece was born. I hope you like it, I would LOVE it if you reviewed!

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Harry and Ginny's engagement party is in full flow at the Burrow when Ron spots Luna at one of the tables around the dance floor, dreamily staring at the couples dancing. He leaves Hermione with Percy, as their conversation is already way too academic for him to keep track, and makes his way over to her. She doesn't notice him even when he sits beside her, so he gives her gold-clothed shoulder a tap.

"Oh! Ronald! You surprised me," Luna says, looking at him with eyes that show no trace of surprise. "Have you come to ask me to leave?"

Ron frowns. "Of course not. Why would I be asking you to do that?"

"Because my aura is repelling that of all Weasleys today. It's lucky Hermione isn't one yet, and Neville and Harry aren't, or otherwise I would have had no one to talk to," she says as if it were obvious.

Ron blushes at the comment about Hermione not being a Weasley yet, not bothering to guess at how Luna knows he's been planning to propose for a while. "Well, Luna, if it's repelling me, I haven't noticed." He's realised that the best way to react to one of Luna's- well, Lunarisms, is to politely agree with her or to quickly change the topic of conversation. In this case, he's going for the latter. "I actually came over here to ask you if you'd like to dance."

"To dance? With who? I've only danced with Neville so far because his aura and mine are perfectly magnetised today," she says, casting a glance for Neville, who is dancing slowly with Hannah Abbott. "But he's busy now, so I'm afraid I have no one to dance with. Aren't they _such_ a lovely couple?"

Ron looks at them. He supposes that they are, even though he'd always expected Luna and Neville to get together, although Hermione had insisted that they wouldn't. "Yes- but, that's beside the point. I came to ask you to dance with _me_." He smiles at her and she stares.

"You?"

He nods and blushes, feeling like a stupid kid getting rejected. It's not like he's in love with her or anything, he reminds himself quickly, to ease the blush. He's just dancing with her out of pity, friend to friend, because she has no one to dance with. What's so shocking about that?

"Aren't you at all bothered by my aura? Isn't it really putting you off being in my company?"

Ron shakes his head and tries very hard not to roll his eyes. "Not at all."

"That would be lovely. Are you sure you want to, though? You don't have to. I'm perfectly content sitting here on my own."

Ron smiles, stands and offers his hand. "I'd really like to dance with you, Luna." He's starting to wish he'd never asked.

She takes his hand and he pulls her up and leads her onto the dance floor. They take their positions, Luna letting Ron take her waist and one of her hands while she puts her hand on her shoulder. "You know, this is the weirdest way to dance," Luna says after they begin. "Neville taught it me earlier, but it's quickly becoming my favourite, after the Snorkack Skip, of course."

Ron resists the urge to laugh and smiles awkwardly. Luna rests her head against his chest, because she can't quite reach his shoulder, which surprises him and he hopes that she hasn't mistaken his intentions for asking her to dance. He catches Hermione's eye from across the garden and she smiles at him, giving him a little wave before accepting Harry's invitation for a dance- he notices Ginny is currently in the arms of Bill.

As the music begins to wind down and a hush settles over the dancing couples, Luna stands on her tiptoes, leaning so that she can whisper in Ron's ear. "Thank you for giving me the best dance of my life." The statement is so un-Lunaish and takes him completely by surprise, but he knows that she means it and is grateful to her, so he squeezes her hand and dips his head and whispers back to her "no problemo," because he's Ron and even though he's being nice he's still quite immature.

When the song is finished Luna abruptly steps back. "If my aura is in company with your aura for much longer I think you'll explode. Sorry," she says, and gives him a serious smile, then floats off to find her next dancing companion, leaving Ron spellbound, watching her go.

"Crazy," he mutters under his breath as Hermione appears in front of him, looking so beautiful it makes his heart jolt. He wonders idly if she too, like Luna, has picked up that he wants to marry her soon.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asks, looping both her arms around his neck as his hands take her waist, falling into their familiar dance routine.

Ron looks at Luna, who's trying to teach Harry, Ginny, Neville _and _Hannah the Snorkack Skip, and grins. "Absolutely."

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	10. Knowing

Knowing

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Pairing: Lisa Turpin & Michael Corner

Word Count: 518

Summary: All she can do is watch, and wait, and hope against hope that Michael will notice her.

Author's Note: The first sentence came into my head and I just wrote it, not at first knowing which pairing it was until I looked at the classlist for Harry's year and found Lisa Turpin & Michael Corner and decided it was perfect for them. I may write more things about these two in the future, but for now, it's an unclassified one-shot stuffed in Expelliarmus. Feedback, as always, is appreciated.

* * *

And she knows it is love, because it hurts (oh it hurts) and everything feels different now (from the sun on her back to the rain on her face, it is different). Because she has never liked anyone but Michael, not since third year when he threw her a sugar quill and said that he'd accidentally bought two (they both knew it was a lie). She'd liked him then, instantly, sharing something in their blushes as they sucked their sugar quills, and over the years it had developed into the state it was now. _Love_.

Unrequited love is the worst pain of all. She knows that, now, whereas in previous years she has scorned it (scorned it because she didn't believe that something as good as love could hurt so much). But it does hurt, so much, and what annoys her the most is there is nothing she can do about it. She is not a Gryffindor and is thus not brave enough to tell him. She is not a Slytherin and confident enough to steal him away. She is clever, yes, but what good is being clever in the face of unrequited love? Ginny Weasley is not clever, anyway, at least not in the way that Ravenclaws are. Maybe he doesn't _want_ clever, (maybe he just doesn't want _her_).

She'd just always thought that he'd realise. She'd thought he'd realise that exactly what he needed was stood right in front of him, solidified in the form of Lisa Jennifer Turpin, the sparky tomboy, his female best friend. But he remained, _remains _oblivious. All he can see is Ginny Weasley with her scorching hair and exciting personality and her strong independence, which Lisa knows will eventually end their relationship. But she can't wait that long. Impatience is one of the traits that she and Ginny Weasley share.

Sometimes Michael will ask her silly questions like "are you alright?" and "how come I don't see you as often now?" and she just wants to punch him. Because the answers are obvious. No, she is not alright, because the person she is so very much in love with is infatuated with somebody else. And you don't see me as often now, Michael, because you are always glued to the face of Ginny Weasley. But saying these things wouldn't help, so she avoids replying at all. It is easier not to reply to something that has such a sad, self-pitying answer.

Mandy and Morag and Padma tell her over and over that it's alright, he'll come round eventually. All four Ravenclaw girls are especially close but Padma knows the most about Lisa's heartbreak so it's she that climbs into Lisa's bed when she's crying and takes her hand and whispers "he may not love you yet, but we do, darling." This would not and does not and _will_ not stop it hurting.

All she can do is watch, and wait, and hope against hope that Michael will notice her.


End file.
